Minutes to Burn

Chapter 27

Samantha practiced Tae Bo in the corner of the slammer, supple-menting her roundhouses and side kicks with late-night-movie sound effects. In reality, she had no idea what she was doing, but on many a sleepless night, she'd watched the Tae Bo infomercial with a per-verse interest. Given that she had no better options while she waited for Tom Straussman to return with the electron micrographs, she figured the least she could do was practice her grunting. Plus it helped her keep her mind off her test results, which would be in any moment. She'd spent the night fidgeting, praying the antiserum would be approved for the pilot and flight attendant, and that their viremia hadn't progressed extensively.

There was a knocking on the window, and Samantha glanced over, one foot extended awkwardly before her. Colonel Douglas Strickland, Fort Detrick Base Commander, stood rigid in the hallway, watching her with something like disdain. Samantha lowered her foot and snapped off a crisp salute. Her hair had fallen forward in her face, and Kiera's NVME T-shirt was damp with sweat.

She walked over to the window. "Sir," she said.

Strickland watched her for a moment before speaking, his jaw shifting slowly to one side, then back again. Samantha wondered how he could stand like that-shoulders back, chest forward, beret tucked neatly beneath one elbow and pressed to his side. She made a note to work on Iggy's posture.

"Dr. Everett," he said. His nose bunched like a rabbit's, then loosened.

"Yes, sir."

"I'd imagine you're quite impressed with yourself, having backed us into a corner with this media stunt."

"Well, it-" He raised a hand and Samantha stopped short. When Colonel Douglas Strickland raised his hand, people generally stopped short.

"Allow me to proffer a bit of advice. I am not in the mood to field even the slightest amount of horseshit from you. I am here to speak, not to listen, and you are here to listen, not to speak. Is that clear?"

Samantha opened her mouth. Closed it. Nodded.

"Your viral load has continued to decrease, and we've cleared the anti-serum to be used on the pilot and stewardess."

Samantha began to smile but stopped when she read his expression.

He continued, his face betraying little emotion. "We've sent this case through for internal review. A JAG officer has already been assigned to the investigation. I am going to do everything I personally can to see that you're shitcanned. You may have the chops for science, darling, but an army major you're not. That said, I hope this ploy of yours is successful, that you might have something positive to remember during your early retirement."

He turned sharply on heel and began walking away. Samantha raised her fist to the glass and knocked once. He turned around.

"Sir," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, ever so slightly.

"I'm a Wellesley graduate with an M.D. from Hopkins, a Ph. D. in microbiology from the NIH, extensive clinical training at the EIS, and field experience on six of the seven continents. I ran the Viral Special Pathogens Branch at the CDC and, for the time being, I'm the Chief of the Disease Assessment Division here." She pushed an errant strand of hair off her cheek. "Don't call me darling. It just makes you look like an ass."

Colonel Douglas Strickland stared at her for a long, hard time. His mouth twitched once-Samantha wasn't sure if it was in anger, or the beginnings of a smile-and then smoothed back into his impenetrable face.

"Very well," he said. "Dr. Everett."